


Slip of the Tongue

by Kaiosea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canonverse in the future, Dating, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Frottage, HQ Rarepair Week, Hand Jobs, M/M, Near-Future Fic, Praise Kink, Tsukishima letting his mouth run away with him, some first times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3566153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiosea/pseuds/Kaiosea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima always watched Kenma during matches. The problem was that watching Kenma didn’t make it any easier to read him.</p><p>Or, Tsukki/Kenma with a heavy dosage of praise, awkwardness, silence, and not-always figuring things out as you go along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slip of the Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this pairing as soon as they interacted. I'm very nervous/excited to be posting this as my first Haikyuu!! fic. If I think of a better summary I'll be changing that. 
> 
> In any parts where sexy stuff happens, they’re 17 and 18.

“Kenma, your hair looks more washed today.”

Those weren’t the words Tsukishima had prepared, because he hadn’t prepared anything at all. He’d walked to the other team’s bench after their practice match, full of first-years whose names he didn't know, and the words had just come out. The Nekoma team gaped at him, minus Kenma who merely raised his head to acknowledge he was being addressed. 

Tsukishima filled in the silence. “I’m going to a movie now. You should come with me.”

Kenma said okay. 

The film was immediately bad, but Tsukishima had chosen a bad one on purpose after Kenma said he didn’t care what they saw.

Tsukishima thought about reaching out for Kenma’s hand, but when he leaned closer, or nudged his leg up close to his, or slowly drifted his hand to the armrest that Kenma was hogging, Kenma moved further away. Tsukishima stopped trying, obviously.

The last action scene finally rolled away, bloated with too many special effects. 

“That was total garbage,” said Tsukishima as they left the theatre, sticking his nose in the air. 

Kenma had his gaming console pulled out before they reached the sidewalk. “It was okay.” 

“Are you joking? It was terrible. The main guy couldn’t act at all, and the plot was so simple a five-year-old could’ve written it.”

Kenma shrugged. His game beeped that it had low battery and he sighed and turned it off. 

Tsukishima guessed there would be no second date. 

“Can we go to your house?” said Kenma. 

Tsukishima nearly choked on his own spit. “What?”

“We’re nearby.” 

Tsukishima knit his eyebrows together. “How do you know that?”

Kenma ignored him. “Are your parents home?”

 

*

 

Ever since the first time they faced Nekoma, Tsukishima watched Kenma during matches. Generally, when Tsukishima was blocking, he kept the majority of his reflexes trained on the setter, so it was only natural that he had to play closer attention than usual to one of the trickier guys they’d ever faced. 

The problem was that watching Kenma didn’t make it any easier to read him. 

Their coaches decided to make joint practices a thing, so match after match went by, but Tsukishima was no closer to reading Kenma’s plays than he had been in the beginning. Kenma’s relatively blank expression was an asset in hiding his plays, but his body was similarly empty of intention, sporting a clean form right up until the moment Tsukishima was fooled. 

He resolved to try harder.

 

*

 

His parents weren’t at home. 

“Oh my god,” muttered Tsukishima, lying back on his bed, heart racing as he looked up at the ceiling. 

Kenma was pressing him into his mattress, grinding their hips together, sucking on Tsukishima’s neck and running fingers through his hair like he’d been doing for the last half hour. Kenma had jumped him almost as soon as they got inside his bedroom and closed the door, and Tsukishima had been startled but gone along with it. He had watched him for over a year, liked him for months, and he’d spent a lot of time thinking about kissing him, even if his fantasies had never gone quite like this, with Kenma really… taking the initiative. 

Tsukishima tried hard not to make noise into Kenma’s mouth when the smaller boy took a pause from lavishing kisses on his neck. He licked into Tsukishima’s mouth and coaxed his tongue out, then he sucked voraciously on that too. 

He could feel Kenma’s dick pressing against his own through the soft material of their shorts, and he thrust his hips up, gasping at the friction, wondering what Kenma’s dick looked like. It didn’t feel that big or anything. Tsukishima wondered what Kenma would think of his dick, if he would think it was passable or not, but then Kenma’s tongue was slipping inside his mouth and his hair smelled so good, even if he definitely hadn’t washed it today. 

Kenma’s mouth made him feel so hot, almost itching for more contact. It made him want to take his clothes off and do things he’d only imagined while he jacked off, like getting on his knees to mouth at Kenma’s dick. It made him want to fuck. 

Kenma grabbed his hand from where it was resting at the curve of his back and moved it to his ass. 

Caught off guard, not sure what Kenma wanted, Tsukishima squeezed once, enjoying the supple feeling, before sliding his hand up to Kenma’s neck. 

Kenma promptly batted his hand away from his neck and put it back where it was, more firmly this time. 

So Tsukishima indulged, groping a nice handful through his shorts, accidentally moaning into Kenma’s mouth in the process. 

He’d noticed his mouth in the past, how pert and small it was. Kenma usually left it dangling open when he played his games. Tsukishima wondered if he could even open it wide enough to suck dick, and just thinking about that had him aching for release. He could feel himself throbbing inside his shorts. 

He felt feverish and urgent, inhaling the sweat from Kenma’s skin. Tsukishima grabbed his ass with both hands, and then Kenma ground his hips down hard and sucked on his tongue. He felt too hot, and Tsukishima scrunched his eyes closed and broke the kiss, bending his head forward, teeth finding a place on Kenma’s neck to bite as he came all over the inside of his underwear. He panted into Kenma’s neck like a dog until the orgasm finished. 

He loosened his grip around Kenma’s waist and opened his eyes, feeling a little ashamed.

But Kenma’s hair was flying out of place, his eyes were half-shut and sultry and his mouth was red and glistening with spit. He began to rut against Tsukishima’s leg like he urgently needed to get off. He looked lewd like this, his arms splayed out on either side of Tsukishima’s body. His mouth gaped and he looked desperate for it. 

“Uh,” said Tsukishima, testing. “Can I touch you.” As nice as the grinding felt, it was mushing his own semen into his skin. 

Kenma opened his eyes impossibly wide and stared at a spot above Tsukishima's head and nodded. He pulled himself up to his knees and pushed his shorts and underwear down, gesturing for Tsukishima to masturbate him. 

His cock was very nice-looking, flushed and slightly curved near the tip, which was dripping with precum. He hadn’t realized a dick could produce that much precum at one time, and as he looked another clear bead came to the top and slid down the side. Looking at the size, comparing it to his own and finding Kenma’s quite a bit smaller, Tsukishima wondered if he could fit the whole thing in his mouth, what it would taste like. 

With his right hand, he slid the pads of his fingers around the head of Kenma’s dick and was gratified by an instant shudder. He moved the slickness around and noticed Kenma’s breath quicken, so he started to apply more pressure, using the full length of his fingers to stroke up and down, moving the foreskin, paying close attention to apply pressure to the part just underneath the head. That spot was sensitive on himself. 

It seemed to be working. Whenever his hand went over that part and squeezed slightly, Kenma wouldn’t say anything, but he’d inhale fast and almost make a noise. 

Tsukishima bit his lip and started to talk despite himself. 

“Kenma, you’re so—pretty, you’re like—you’re so wet.” He didn’t know what he was saying. “I’m getting hard again for you.” 

The words spilled out. He wasn’t sure if Kenma noticed, with his head drooping forward, eyes nearly shut. 

Tsukishima couldn’t help but have a taste, moving his hand to his mouth briefly before returning it. “You’re sweet, Kenma, I love the way you taste.” 

It wasn’t a sweet taste even; it was more salty than anything. 

Kenma was bucking his hips into his fist now, quick and fast, the almost-groans escaping continuously from his small mouth. 

“I like watching you like this, you just look so fucking perfect—”

Kenma thrust his hips forward and came, ropes splattering out onto Tsukishima’s shirt, and a little bit catching on his chin. 

Tsukishima’s throat closed up. 

Kenma made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and wrapped them around his dick, collecting the small bits of cum that lingered. He sat back on on Tsukishima’s knees, causing one to crack beneath him, and pulled his shorts up. He looked at his hand thoughtfully and gave it a small lick before helpfully wiping the rest on Tsukishima’s shirt, effectively ruining all of his clothes. 

Tsukishima was too aroused to care about that, staring from behind his glasses, the image of Kenma’s pink tongue flicking out etched in his mind. He was going to have to take care of himself again as soon as Kenma left. Which was what the setter appeared to be doing, gathering his backpack and pushing a hand through his hair, messing it up further. 

“Okay. Bye then,” said Tsukishima, feeling stupid. 

Kenma nodded and said nothing. The blank expression was perfectly sealed over his face. He had a spare game console open before he walked out the door. 

 

*

 

Kenma wasn’t blank all the time. Tsukishima came to this astounding conclusion sometime near the end of his first year, after watching Kenma intently and single-mindedly during all their practice matches, which were frequent. Tsukishima actually missed a few easy blocks every game due to his own agenda. The lost points didn’t bother him. 

The thing he’d discovered was that Kenma used facial expressions liberally for one sort of play only: fakes. He usually fooled everyone, because for most blockers, the surprise of seeing Kenma with a positively excessive facial expression tended to draw their attention. Then they unconsciously followed the direction of Kenma’s eyes rather than watching his body, getting pulled into the fakes, going for the decoys. It didn’t work all the time, but Kenma used it within measure, little enough that it was still very effective.

Kenma probably liked to fake. He was sure good at it. 

But now that Tsukishima had figured something out, even if it was just one little thing that maybe no one had ever noticed about Kozume Kenma before, he was going to use it to his advantage. 

The next time he was in the front, he decided to draw out the fake. 

He stood deliberately off position, setting himself up as bait. He hoped that Kenma would try to throw him completely off course, pull him further in the wrong direction. At that moment Tsukishima would know to run back the opposite way for the block. 

A few points went by. Karasuno scored three in a row. On the next volley, the other side’s libero got an ideal receive and the ball was soaring, floating into Kenma’s hands. 

There it was. Kenma’s eyes flicked to Tsukishima, trying to catch him in his web, and then Kenma blatantly looked at #6 on his left, which meant the ball was actually going to go to… 

Lev, on the right, for a straight spike. 

Tsukishima knew his timing would be spot-on even before he took off. He sprinted into position and jumped for the ball, using his full height to reach the apex. Time slowed down, and when his outstretched fingertips finally came into contact with the ball, he used all his strength and thrust it to the ground, right down Nekoma’s side of the net. 

There was silence and then cheering, the loudest from Yamaguchi, which Tsukishima didn’t respond to. 

Tsukishima had blocked Lev, but his glance was still directed at Nekoma’s setter. He’d jumped without even believing his theory was real, but he’d really done it. He’d out-read Kenma. He wasn’t going to be dumb like Hinata and stare at his hands at what just happened, but he could maybe halfway-understand the desire. 

After the same thing happened twice, Kenma stopped using fakes. 

 

*

 

His parents weren’t home the next time they saw each other, either. Tsukishima felt a weird sense of deja vu. They’d gone to a volleyball match, where Kenma had divided his attention between the volleyball game and the virtual one on his console, leaving none for Tsukishima. Tsukishima had alternated between insulting the two teams and making fun of the parents who came to watch, feeling unusually self-conscious about being nasty, wondering what Kenma really thought of him. But afterwards Kenma had requested they go to his house again, and they’d pretty much repeated what they did the first time, minus some key pieces of clothing. 

As fall ceded into an early winter, the same thing happened the next few weeks without many variations, until today.

Today Kenma had made him buy lubricant from a nearby drugstore before they went to his house. Kenma had just pushed him into the store with both hands and told him to buy it. Tsukishima assumed it was because he looked older than him, despite the age difference. He’d done it staring at the floor the whole time, clutching his hat in his hands, wondering how many security cameras were catching him on tape. He was still embarrassed about the freshly purchased bottle. 

Kenma was skinny and flushed with his shirt off, and he squirmed while Tsukishima uncapped the bottle, removing the plastic sealant at the top. He handed it over Kenma, joining him on the bed. 

The embarrassment of his trip to the store was extremely worth it, to see Kenma squeezing a finger into himself, the lube wetting the sheets where it dripped down his hand to the wrist. He added another before Tsukishima had gotten accustomed to the sight of the first. 

The words fell out of his mouth. “Have you done this before.”

Kenma didn’t say anything and continued squirming on the bed, eventually adding another finger. Tsukishima palmed himself but didn’t take off any of his clothes, unwilling to lose a moment of watching. Kenma’s hair was fanned out on Tsukishima’s dinosaur pillow, the roots showing more than usual. 

Kenma closed his eyes and lifted his brow and opened his mouth, sliding three fingers out. There was a trail of lube from his ass to his stomach, where the hand that had just been inside himself was resting, flexing its fingers. 

Kenma’s voice was raspy. “Use yours, they’re bigger.” 

Tsukishima sucked in a breath. He hadn’t gotten the urge to start spouting nonsense like he usually did, but he couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t happen again. 

He slipped his shirt over his head, wincing at his own paleness, and reached for the lube. He wondered for a second how clean it was to do this, but Kenma’s fingers were fine, if excessively sticky when they brushed Tsukishima’s stomach by accident. 

He used one finger to start, too afraid to start with more, but Kenma soon asked for another, and another. 

Inside, Kenma was warm and tight, and there were ridges and grooves Tsukishima had never imagined. He mapped it out, trying to find what Kenma liked best, what made him shiver and what could maybe make him groan. 

Kenma didn’t really say anything, but his legs were clenching over and over again, a miniscule movement as his hips pushed into the thrusting of Tsukishima’s fingers, like he was eating up the feeling of being full. The wiry cords of muscle on his thighs stood out on his small frame, and Tsukishima swallowed and memorized the sight. 

“Kenma,” said Tsukishima, and he knew he was about to say something ridiculous. “You’re dripping. You’re so wet.” 

Kenma’s hips stuttered for a small second. 

Tsukishima was glad he was tall enough to unwind his body over Kenma’s, resting his weight on his left forearm so that he didn’t crush him, as his right hand continued to fuck inside him. Kenma surged up and licked into his mouth like Tsukishima had hoped he would, and he urgently dove into the kiss, liberally using his tongue. 

Right next to his mouth, at the fullest part of Kenma’s cheek, Tsukishima said without thinking, “You look amazing.” 

He placed his mouth at the junction of his ear, nosing at the shell softly before allowing his lips to explore. 

“I want you to do this to me,” breathed Tsukishima, right into his ear, words coming in bunches of two or three, in time with the stammering of his hand. “I haven’t done it before, you can show me, I’d probably love that.” He’d lost track of what he was saying. 

Kenma gasped, his breath clicking in his throat. 

 

*

 

It was roughly the first match after Kenma had realized that Tsukishima knew how he engineered his fakes, around the beginning of Tsukishima's second year. Tsukishima was off the court and Hinata was blocking. 

As usual, his eyes reached for Nekoma’s side of the court, and one of their receivers hit it clean back to Kenma. It was perfect for a fake, but Kenma had stopped using those.

Or rather, Tsukishima had thought that Kenma stopped, but he was wrong because there it was, the suddenly unnatural alert expression on Kenma’s face—the telltale eyeflick, the momentary hesitation in his shoulders. He was faking, and it was unmistakable to Tsukishima alone, and if Hinata would just go to the left instead of the right like a gullible little troll, then he’d block it.

Tsukishima didn’t feel like yelling, though, and they lost the point. 

He didn’t care about just one point. In fact, he felt pleasantly warm, but light in the head. 

So Kenma was only getting rid of the fakes when he was blocking. That wasn’t boring at all. 

It wasn’t long before the staring habit came to persist off the court, where Tsukishima found his gaze lingering on Kenma. Tsukishima always stood at the side, so it wasn’t that hard to find a clear line of sight, especially when Yamaguchi started leaving his side to talk to the others more. 

Kenma would whip out his game during every spare break and social gathering, quick fingers flicking expertly at the buttons. His expression was still fairly lacking when he was really into a video game, but as Tsukishima kept watching he noticed it was a very intense sort of blankness. Like his concentration was wiping his mind of everything else. 

Tsukishima didn’t think he knew what that was like, not in volleyball or in anything. 

 

*

 

“You’re not going to play volleyball at university?”

It was cold out, but they were having ice cream anyways at a popular franchise, after the last of the training camps for the year. Tsukishima guessed it was the last time they’d practice volleyball together, before hopefully meeting again on the court as enemies, for the last time as well. He wondered if it was the last time Kenma would come to his house, too. 

“I’m not going to play,” said Kenma. 

It kind of made him angry, thinking that Kenma wouldn’t be playing after this year, a month away. He was so talented and so carefully studied and hardworking, in his own way. “Don’t think you’re good enough?” 

Kenma lifted his eyes momentarily. “That’s not what I think.”

“Too good to play, then?”

Kenma didn’t rise to the bait. He never did. Maybe he didn’t even realize what bait was. “No.”

“You have to keep playing,” said Tsukishima. “Why won’t you?”

Kenma shrugged and looked out the window. Tsukishima thought he wasn’t going to respond, but Kenma turned back to him and said, “Because of the team.”

“Why don’t they want you to play,” said Tsukishima, getting kind of mad. 

“They want me to. I don’t want to.”

“Is the team terrible where you’re accepted or something?”

“No.”

Tsukishima pushed his glasses up. 

“You’re too smart, I just don’t get it.”

Kenma sighed. Tsukishima finished off his dish, not bothering to lick the spoon.

As they exited through the automatic doors, Kenma spoke so quietly that Tsukishima almost didn’t hear him. 

“Let’s go to my house.” 

 

*

 

Yamaguchi had asked him about Kenma only once, after a Karasuno-Nekoma practice match. It had been only a few weeks after Kenma had first started going to Tsukishima’s house after their practices. 

“Him?” said Tsukishima. He scoffed. “What would I be doing with him?”

“I don’t know!” 

“Why would I be interested in him? What are you going on about, Yamaguchi, you’re crazy.”

“Ah, Tsukki! I didn’t mean anything, I was just thinking that you kinda… well, I guess you stare at him a lot. I mean all the time.” 

Tsukishima was desperate for him to drop the subject. “I don’t do that. What’s there to look at in someone like that?”

“I don’t know… Hinata noticed too, he said....”

Tsukishima really, really didn’t want to hear what Hinata had said. Yamaguchi had to stop talking.

“Listen,” said Tsukishima loudly, gesturing with one hand. “I really don’t care about the Nekoma setter. He can do what he wants.”

“Tsukki—”

“You’re being stupid. Go change, you smell.”

Yamaguchi must have realized he was serious about the matter. He threw his hands down, muttering that Tsukishima smelled way worse. 

It was only after Yamaguchi walked away that Tsukishima noticed Kenma quietly sitting in a corner with a game held up to his face. 

Tsukishima would swear he’d imagined it, but for a moment he thought that Kenma’s eyes had been on him. 

 

*

 

Kenma pinched the condom at the tip and rolled it on over himself. 

“Why did you do that?” said Tsukishima, more alert than he had been a few minutes ago, when Kenma had fingered him and jerked him until he was basically whimpering, fisting his hands in Kenma’s red bedsheets. 

“It collects semen. Less chance of breaking,” said Kenma. He was more raspy than usual. 

“Have you done this before?” said Tsukishima, looking resolutely at the ceiling. 

Kenma looked at the same spot on the ceiling. “I do a lot of research. I have… an interest.”

Tsukishima hadn’t meant to ask, and he tried hard not to care about the answer. It was interesting that Kenma had an interest in something, but he’d kind of already guessed that to be honest, so that was that. 

They kissed a few times, making up for the awkwardness, and then Tsukishima bent his legs up to made room and Kenma positioned himself and started to move. 

He and Kenma had experimented with fingering each other a couple times, and Tsukishima had experimented by himself a lot, but this was certainly different. 

It was terrifying and new, but Tsukishima was excited, looking down and watching Kenma’s dick slowly disappearing inside his ass. When he was about halfway, Tsukishima said to pause, and he breathed deeply, jaw hanging open, and squeezed a hand between their bodies, stroking his dick. It was too bad Kenma couldn’t reach his mouth at this angle, because Tsukishima had grown accustomed to making out with him, and it usually made him feel relaxed and hot all at the same time. 

He could almost feel himself leisurely opening up. Kenma’s dick felt a lot bigger than it looked. He still wondered if he would be able to take the whole thing in his mouth at once. Maybe it was weird that he still hadn’t done that, or that Kenma hadn’t sucked him off yet either. Perhaps they were doing things in all the wrong order. 

But Kenma was fully seated inside him now, and if it was out of order Tsukishima didn’t care, he didn’t want to travel back time. 

“I—” Tsukishima stuttered. 

Kenma looked at his face inquiringly. 

“You just feel so… big,” said Tsukishima, and he wanted to slap himself. 

Kenma’s hand was locked around Tsukishima’s thigh. “You don’t have to flatter me,” he said. 

“I’m not,” said Tsukishima. He felt full and unfamiliar to himself. “Move, but slowly,” he said, tilting his head so he had a better view through his glasses. 

Kenma moved his hips back, unhurried. He pulled back until only the curved tip was stretching his rim and began to slowly press inside again. 

Tsukishima stared at his face, how deep in concentration he was. Kenma kept glancing up at his face, probably monitoring his reactions, and he felt so warm when their eyes met that he could almost forget the uncomfortableness. 

“You’re inside me,” said Tsukishima, sounding surprised for some reason, as if they both weren’t already aware of that fact. 

Kenma’s eyes slid half closed and his mouth fell open as he went a pinch faster. Tsukishima was half-hard, caught between an uncomfortable stretch and a pleasant burn, but it didn’t matter when Kenma was flushed above him, his hair swinging in his face, fingers gripping Tsukishima’s thighs so hard he thought they would bruise. 

“Kenma,” he said, drawing out the sounds of his name. “You’re good.”

He could almost believe he felt the bend in Kenma’s dick the more he thrust, and Tsukishima started to nudge his hips downwards in time, starting to talk uncontrollably. 

“I like this,” he gasped. He wasn’t listening to himself. He never knew exactly what he was saying around Kenma. “Keep going. You’re perfect.” Kenma went a little harder, rutting into him. 

“I like it, it’s good when you do it like that, I feel complete,” said Tsukishima, forgetting what he said as the words came out.

Watching Kenma orgasm, his face contorted with pleasure and his languid arms trembling, always got him hard like nothing else. He didn’t go over the edge, but he felt pretty close to it as Kenma finished. 

Kenma only thrust a few more times before he pulled out and slipped the condom off, tying the end in a fast knot and aiming it into the wastebin without hesitation. 

Kenma moved his legs to the side and knelt next to him, apparently deciding something, and then he put his lips over Tsukishima’s dick. 

After only a few sloppy licks, Tsukishima spasmed and came hard all over the inside and outside of his mouth, crying out. His comedown was slow, and he licked his lips as Kenma swallowed what had gotten in his mouth, allowing the rest to drip off his chin into the palm of his hand. 

Tsukishima discovered he’d thrown his arm over his head while he came, and he looked through his fingers while Kenma got something to wipe himself off with—a dirty T-shirt, apparently—before getting on the bed and curling up.

Within seconds of finishing the cleanup process, Kenma had fallen asleep. 

Tsukishima used the pillowcase to wipe off his glasses. 

 

*

 

Tsukishima waited for Kenma after the final match, the last one they’d ever play together, if Kenma’s resolution to never play again was to be believed. Kenma had fooled him a fair number of times, but Tsukishima could counter him better than anyone could. He had his own weapons now. The result of the match wasn’t disappointing at all, and he wanted Kenma to be happy with how they’d both played. 

He stopped abruptly outside the locker room before he barged inside, hearing a voice he recognized as someone on the Nekoma team. He knew them on sight but wasn’t familiar with all their voices. 

“Kenma. Honestly you’re weird. Why are you going out with this guy? He’s not that nice to you.” 

Tsukishima held his breath. There was a long pause before Kenma responded, words coming careful and slow in his dull voice. He was mumbling though, so Tsukishima couldn’t make out the words, but he thought he heard something about sex.

His teammate laughed. “That’s all? The personality, though.”

“I know,” Kenma agreed baldly, and Tsukishima’s chest ached. 

“Do you ever like, hang out with him with other people?”

Kenma paused. “We hang out with Shouyou sometimes.”

“I mean hanging out that doesn’t involve a volleyball, and him and Hinata being on the opposite side of the net as you.”

“I joked,” said Kenma, completely deadpan. 

“Yeah. Well I’m not gonna say you don’t know what you’re doing, cause you usually do, but it’s just weird to me and I’m saying it’s weird.”

Kenma probably shrugged. Tsukishima hoped he shrugged. 

“If Kuroo were here—”

“What?” Kenma’s voice couldn’t sound sharp, but if it could have, it would have sounded like that. 

The other boy sounded exasperated. “Nothing, Kenma. Go play your game.” 

If it wasn’t the end to the conversation, Tsukishima didn’t feel like hearing more. He walked away silently, rubbing at the back of his neck. He’d probably strained himself during the match. Kenma could come find him. 

He paced around in the empty locker room. Well, he did tell Kenma that he liked being around him, right? He didn’t only complain about things the whole time they were together. Sometimes they did sex stuff. Sometimes he just watched Kenma play games. Sometimes they sat around outside, or went places, and actually that didn’t count because places had people, and Kenma always had to listen to him complain about things, and people, and mostly life. 

Kenma texted him to meet outside the building. Tsukishima replied that it would be a while, because he had to finish thinking first, only he didn’t say that part of it. 

So Tsukishima prepared a speech. He thought about what he felt, and what he wanted. He thought about Kenma looking at him out of the corners of his eyes in public, and how he stared full-on in private. He thought his speech was pretty great, and as soon as he walked outside and saw Kenma, stumbling over a dip in the ground with his head in his game, he forgot all of it and said something else. 

“Do you like me,” said Tsukishima. He said it squinting at the ground, and he winced at himself but tried not to show it. 

Kenma thought about that, pausing his game and looking at the sky. Tsukishima could tell he was still level grinding from the last time he’d seen him, powering up to beat the final boss. It was spring, and they didn't need their jackets.

“I wouldn’t have sex with you,” said Kenma, “if I didn’t like you. More than not liking you.”

“What?”

“Do I have to say all of that again.”

“No. Actually,” said Tsukishima, gathering his measly courage, because bits of his preparation were floating back into his brain. “That is also… the same for me.” That was also the best he could do. 

Kenma’s eyes darted to his face and away. “That’s all?”

“Yes,” said Tsukishima, confused by the question. “And why?”

“I don’t know. I liked thinking you felt those other things.”

“What things?”

“The ones you say during sex.” 

“I don’t say anything,” said Tsukishima, crossing his arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“One time you said you loved me when you came,” said Kenma indifferently. 

Tsukishima didn’t know what to say about that and tried to look blank. 

It was on the tip of his tongue to deny everything, to snark that he’d never say something like that, to say that it didn’t mean anything. 

For once he kept his mouth shut. 

 

*

 

“I like your dinosaurs,” said Kenma when they pushed their way inside the door. It was the first time he’d commented on anything in Tsukishima’s room since they started going there months ago. He sewed his mouth up and dropped his backpack on the ground, shrugging off his red jacket in a messy pile. 

The rest of their clothes soon joined the pile. 

Kenma was using the lube for something else today, pouring it over his hands. He aligned their hips and pressed their dicks together, wetting them with lube. With both hands he slowly stroked up and down, milking them at the same time. 

“Ah,” said Tsukishima. “Kenma, feels good. Oh please.” It was like Kenma had him by the throat, peeling words off him like fruit from a tree. 

Kenma pushed back Tsukishima’s foreskin and rubbed him over the top with the soft palm of his hand. 

Tsukishima actually heard himself this time. He heard his own voice cracking high and desperate and unflattering, “Ah, god Kenma, you’re so—I like you so much, you don’t even know—”

This time he heard Kenma answer back.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://kaiosea.tumblr.com/post/113935530005/slip-of-the-tongue-kenma-tsukishima)  
>  Comments appreciated.


End file.
